


The Pussyhat Collection: Throwaway People

by MizUndahStood



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Modern Life, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pussyhat Collection, Short Story, Social Issues, Survival, Well-Written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:36:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizUndahStood/pseuds/MizUndahStood
Summary: A beautifully written short story from the "Whispers of Thought" Tumblr about a brief encounter between two differently abled people:"He smelled of sour alcohol, week old urine, body odor, and tar. He never asked for money... Dollars were not what he needed."“Can you see me,” he cried.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You to hunnyluv222 for allowing the short story "Throwaway People" to be included in The Pussyhat Collection. 
> 
> This story is well written, ironic and thought provoking. Please browse more of their work on the Tumblr blog: [Whispers of Thought](https://hunnyluv222.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Writing posted with permission of its author: hunnyluv222.

”Can you see me,” he cried. “Can’t you even see me?”

He sat in a broken, grey, transport wheelchair. He had placed himself directly in front of the double doored exit of our local FoodMaxx grocer. He smelled of sour alcohol, week old urine, body odor, and tar. He never asked for money. He never held out his hand. Dollars were not what he needed. “Can you see me,” he cried again.

Cautiously, I approached him with two naval oranges in my hands. I didn’t know if he needed them. I knew he **_needed_** to be seen. I needed a way to begin a conversation. People continued walking around us. No one stopped. Everyone pretended not to see the old man in the chair. Those that did get caught glancing, quickly moved away; embarrassed or ashamed. For an instant I connected with his feeling of invisibility. I handed him my oranges.

“Can’t you see me,” he pleaded. The question in his voice burned deep within my soul. He **_needed_** me to answer him. Reaching out, he grabbed my hand. His weak grip searched for assurance; for acknowledgement. “Can’t you see me,” he whispered. Moist tears spilled onto my hands as he cried. “Please,” he begged, “can’t you see me?” His voice trembled, hinting the secret knowledge he had gained in his seventy plus years in this world, but never sharing it.

I put my hands softly on his face. “I can see you,” I answered. “I see you. I see you and it’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok,” I began repeating; trapped in the moment. My hands traveled his features, getting to know the individual story of the human being wearing the face in front of me. 

His experienced eyes sunk deeply into their wrinkled sockets. His right eye hung a breath lower at the browline than the left. His brow sat symetrically perfect on the long, curled forehead; leading to a well covered, shrinking hairline. His high cheekbones framed a sharply squared cleft chin, chiseled proudly with accomplishment and wrinkled with years of worry. This was a good man; a hard working man. This was a proud man, full of dreams and expectations for the family he must have once had. His face narrated the entire story; carefully detailing the events in it’s peaks and curves. “I can see you” I repeated. “ I really **can** see you”

The man began to tremble. My worried nurse pulled at my sleeve. She was signalling it was time for us to leave.I was making her nervous. Normally, I wouldn’t be here. Normally, I would be home. Most days I couldn’t walk out of my front door. Today, I did. Today, he needed me. I chose to ignore her. This was too important. “I feel invisible too,” I bent down, and whispered in his left ear. “I’m a throw away too! I am so sorry you’re hurt, but I CAN see you You are NOT invisible to me.”

Suddenly the man was shaking. I thought I could feel sudden fear. He pulled his hands away from mine. He scooped up the oranges I had given him. His overly layered, frail lap squeezed instinctively tighter as he grabbed them; my hands still close to his. He pitched them to the floor angrily. He pushed my hands away. He began yelling, “Can you see? Can’t you see me? See me!”

The man turned abrubtly away from me, and rolled away in his chair. I never told him I am blind. I didn’t have to. It didn’t matter. I did see him. For that one permissive moment, I saw him and he saw me. We connected in a way I can’t find words to explain. There was no love;; no romance; no friendship. There was no passion or compassion. There was everything. There was nothing. There was a universal moment without expression or explanation. Neither of us were invisible; in that one perfect moment. Neither of us were valueless or unworthy. We **WERE** deserving human beings.. We were human beings…

I stood in the parking lot for a few moments after he left. I couldn’t move. My feet simply weren’t ready. My soul would not allow it. This moment was too important; too vital to understanding my own value. I simply couldn’t let it go. I began counting the groups of hesitant people passing by me. No one spoke. No one offered assistance. One boy attempted to remove a bag of chips from the side edge of my cart. His mother quickly scolded him about “stealing from the blind”. She never actually acknowledged me; as a human person. It made me suddenly wonder, “did they see me?”


End file.
